he closed his eyes and tried to imagine her–the way the low timbre of her voice hinted at a bitter, brooding storm caged grudgingly just below the surface, the way she moved that was equally as terrifying as exhilarating. he wasn’t sure if he could even remember what she looked like, only the dark shadow that had invaded his headspace like a fog with teeth, muting his senses whenever he looked at her, convincing him there had to be a connection, that this was all for him, perhaps willing it, like a welcomed illness or addiction. she made him feel imbalanced, uneven, kinetic–trembling on the verge of something redemptive or something tragic, either of which he was more than willing to accept as long as he could have his satisfaction. he wanted a peek behind the curtain. he wanted to consume her secrets.
i’ll get inside your head if you let me, he heard her say. and then you can see, what happens to a man seduced by a ghost.
a chill ran through him, dispatched by the tiny logical minority living in his left brain that still cared about keeping his world intact. he wasn’t sure if it was a wish or a surrender that had allowed the voice in, or even if the voice was just a masquerade of something surfacing within the depths of himself, pleading for a stupendously gruesome trainwreck that might shake him out of his infinite stupor. but now that she was inside him, he felt resigned to let things run its course. the muscles in his shoulders melted as he settled deeper into his office chair, his hands falling loosely above his thighs. a beacon of pulse throbbed a desperate s.o.s. into the tips of his fingers as he felt himself slip away, the words, sometimes devastation can be lyrical if you look hard enough, echoing in the space behind his ears.
it would only be a matter of time.